Saturday, April 9, 2016

Blue Unicorns

It took awhile for my parents to come to terms with to my diagnosis of bipolar disorder. For reasons we may never understand, my mother had a markedly easier time accepting the diagnosis than my father. 

But the other day, my dad told me he thinks he's finally understanding it. "I mean," he explained, "if you see blue unicorns running up and down Connecticut Avenue, who cares? Maybe I see red unicorns. The point is, we all have our unicorns."

"Well Dad, mine are actually pink."

"Well, I think they're actually white, aren't they?"

"Well, they actually don't exist so I guess there's no reason to argue about the color, but I see your point, and it actually means a lot."

"Just remember Peanut, we all have our unicorns."

Any situation that can prompt my  father, with his PhD in atomic physics to discuss blue unicorns with me simply because he's trying to better understand what I'm experiencing, makes me feel like if we look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling we'll find that unicorns actually are all around.

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